Confinement
by queenofsarcasm-14
Summary: AU Philip of Bavaria and Mary story. Oneshot. Fluff.


_**This came to me while I was trying to write my other story, it is pure unashamed fluff but I just thought Philip and Mary were so cute together on the show! Enjoy!**_

_July 1544_

I am not supposed to be here, according to convention no man save the physicians should be setting foot in here. Truthfully I am a little nervous of venturing into this place of women's secrets, I feel absurdly out of place, but one does not refuse a summons from the Queen of England even if it is to a location that I have no right to be in.

I am making my way towards the door when it opens to reveal Dr Linacre exiting, quite hastily it would appear.

'My Lord Duke!' he says in surprise when he sees me.

'Doctor,' I say, smiling and acknowledging him, 'I have come to see my wife, how is she?'

'I am delighted to tell you that the Duchess is in perfect health, the child too. Everything is proceeding as it should.'

'And her spirits?'

He mutters something that definitely sounds like 'oh, she is spirited alright' but he seems to think better of saying it to me and instead picks his words a little more carefully.

'She is tired. And…a little emotional. But that is normal, she has her women with her, they are taking excellent care of her.' A pause. 'Forgive me your Grace, but are you actually planning on going in there _in person?'_

I force back a laugh.

'Yes Doctor, I am. The Queen sent one of her personal messengers to tell me that my presence is required.'

'Oh. Well then, and forgive me again your Grace, but…good luck.' Then he hurries away, looking none too sorry to be leaving.

I stare after him for a second, wondering what could possibly have put the fear of God in the man. Then, feeling a definite sense of foreboding, I knock on the door, rather timidly I might add, and let myself into the confinement chamber.

God, it is hot. Hot as hell. And why is it so _dark?_ It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the restricted light so I don't see them at first. Then the little group of women come into focus, sitting by…is that a _fire?_ In _July?_ Why on earth is it deemed appropriate to have a child in this horrible airless room?

The Queen is the first to see me and the relief is evident in her voice as she greets me.

'Duke Philip! I am so glad that my messenger found you!'

I hasten forward to bow to her and the other ladies look up from their sewing, clearly grateful of the distraction. Lady Elizabeth in particular looks bored out of her mind and is, I notice, sitting a fair distance away from her sister, my wife. My Mary. My sweet Mary I would say usually, but her face and stance do not exactly convey sweetness at this moment.

'Darling,' I say tentatively. 'How are you feeling?'

She raises her head to look at me and though she smiles at me there is something…accusatory in her expression. She is blaming me for something.

'I am fine, my Lord. I would rise and greet you properly but at present standing requires a team of people to help me. I do not wish to impose on my ladies.'

Dear God, the venom is laced tight with every word, she is furious. I must placate her in some way. I plaster a smile on my face.

'Of course not, sweetheart. Do not tire yourself.'

Silence.

The Queen is standing. I suddenly understand her plan; she is going to leave me alone with her so she can direct her wrath at me. _Traitor_.

'I think it would be fitting to give the Duke and Duchess some privacy. We can finish this sewing later. Come ladies, Lady Elizabeth.'

Her last directive was completely unnecessary, as if any of them needed any encouragement to leave, clearly it is all they can do to restrain themselves from breaking into a sprint for freedom. I make sure that I reserve a particularly angry look for Lady Elizabeth as she passes me on her way to the door but she just smiles sweetly at me. I swear revenge on her, on all of them.

And then we are alone. She continues to sew and I cannot help but notice, though I am no expert in sewing, that she is wielding the needle somewhat…viciously. I do not go any closer.

'What…what have you been doing today, sweetheart?'

'Sewing. Praying.'

'I have been with your brother. He is a good boy, very clever.'

No response. Sweat drips down my neck, I feel as if a terrible storm is about to break and I have no hope of getting out of harm's way.

'I saw Linacre on my way in.'

'Linacre!' She spits his name out in disgust.

'Has he upset you?'

Slowly, deliberately, she puts down the sewing- and the needle thank God- and fixes her terrifying gaze on me.

'Has he _upset me?_ Has he_ upset me_?'

I can only shrug, helpless.

'Linacre, that- that _quack_ has told me that the child might not be born for another _two weeks!_ Do you know what that _means_?'

Her voice continues to get louder and shriller until she is shrieking in rage.

'It means,' she doesn't wait for me to attempt to answer her question, clearly she thinks me too stupid to know the answer, 'two more weeks in here! In this _prison!_'

With that she attempts to get out of her chair which looks difficult to say the least. I make a half-hearted move towards her, to help, but this only enrages her more.

'No! No, do- do not _touch_ me! I am _never_ going to let you touch me again!'

Finally she manages to stand and strides towards me as fast as she can. She is enormous and round and quite magnificent in her anger. I am rooted to the spot in fascination and terror. She would not strike me would she?

'If I have to stay in here just one more day I swear I shall die of misery! And it will be all your fault!'

Just as suddenly as the anger came it disappears and she collapses against me, sobbing. Conveniently she seems to have forgotten that she doesn't want me to touch her so I put my arms around her and try to comfort her. It is horrible to see her so distressed.

'_Süße,_' I say softly, attempting a soothing tone, 'why are you so unhappy? What can I do?'

Her words are muffled because of the crying and she is speaking into my chest but I manage to distinguish most of what she is saying.

'So _hot _all the time…always dark…my feet hurt…my back hurts…bored…fat…_idiotic_ physicians…and I am _sick_ of sewing!' she finishes, hiccupping slightly.

'I understand,' I murmur sympathetically. And besides, looking over her shaking shoulders I can see that our child is not going to be wanting for clothing. There are enough lacy caps and layettes for at least five infants, no wonder she is being driven insane with boredom if that is all there is for her to do.

I am reminded then that she is looking to me to make the situation more bearable. Well, I will try, for her. I stroke her hair.

'Alright. Calm yourself, sweetheart, I have a plan.'

She grabs the front of my doublet and raises her eyes to meet mine. They are wild with hope.

'You will take me out of here? You will help me escape?'

'I will make it…better,' I say, still using the same soothing voice, 'you will not find it so bad, I promise.'

Mercifully her grip on me subsides and she nods trustingly if a little disappointedly. I steer her over towards the bed and she sits on the edge of it, still looking despondent but significantly calmer, thank God.

'I will need some help. I am not leaving,' I reassure her. 'Stay here for just one moment.' I kiss her feverish forehead and go quickly to the doors, flinging them open. _Fresh air_. It is heavenly. There are two attendants in the Royal livery just outside, no doubt they have heard everything but no matter, that will work in my favour I think.

'Gentlemen.' I say cheerfully. 'Inside please, I have some jobs for you.'

They gawp at me in horror. One dares to speak out.

'_Inside_, your Grace?'

'Yes.' My tone brooks no disagreement. 'The Duchess and I require your assistance.'

They come with me, reluctantly, but they come. Once inside with the doors closed again they bow awkwardly to Mary who still appears to be in her own private world of misery and doesn't even acknowledge them and then stand there sweating in their heavy uniforms, their eyes begging me to let them leave.

When I speak to them I make an effort to sound reasonable and firm, friendly even. I turn to the first one. He will please go and fetch a bowl of cold water and a cloth. Thankfully he is very willing to take on this task, any excuse to absent himself. The requests I have for the other attendant could prove more problematic however. He will please extinguish the fire immediately. He will take down the tapestries covering the windows. He will open the windows. Again he looks as if he might defy me so I step closer to him, still smiling widely, and lower my voice so that Mary cannot hear.

'Do it man or you will have her to answer to. You heard her before, yes?'

His eyes widen.

'Yes, your Grace.' Then he does what I have asked, quickly and without complaint.

Once most of the tapestries are out of the way, the windows are open and that ridiculous fire has been put out the stuffy room becomes almost pleasant. Mary, on the bed, is visibly breathing easier much to my relief. I go to the window which looks out onto some vegetable patches, a spectacular view obviously not being a requirement of this room. It is dusk, the gardeners have finished work for the day, this part of the palace is deserted. Good.

'Your Grace.'

He is back with the water which I take from him, then I dismiss them both much to their obvious relief. I will have to make sure they are rewarded for their help but now all I can think about is Mary and making her comfortable.

I go back to her and put my hand against her cheek which is still burning to the touch. She leans into my touch for the coolness.

'Sweetheart, would you like to take off some of those heavy clothes?' She nods emphatically so I help her to stand and together we take off most of her voluminous layers until she is left just in her shift and petticoat. Then I sit her down on the bed, dip the cloth in the water and run it over her hot skin until she is cool again. We sit together in silence for a while, me rubbing the small of her back and her swirling her feet contentedly in the water.

'Would you like to sit by the window?' I ask her after a few minutes have passed.

She looks down doubtfully at the state of her undress.

'It's alright, no one is outside. No one will see.'

So she lets me lead her to the window seat and she sits with her back to me, her head leaning against my chest and my hands clasped over the huge curve of her belly.

'Sorry,' she says eventually, 'that I was angry before.'

'Were you? I had forgotten.'

She smiles and I think it is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

'What would you like to do? What is it they tell you that you cannot do?'

She sighs.

'Ride my horse. Dance. _Go outside_.'

'Afterwards, I promise.'

Tentatively, she makes another request.

'I would like my musical instruments. My lute, perhaps. I miss playing.'

I roll my eyes again at the ridiculous rules she is forced to endure.

'Why can you not play your instruments?'

When she answers she is doing a fairly good impression of the overly pious physicians that I have encountered in England.

'Music may excite me too much. It is not helpful to the child's development.'

_And people listen to these fools?_

'Well, I think our child would love to hear you playing. I will have your lute brought to you and you can tell your ladies to hide it whenever Linacre comes to visit.'

She chuckles.

'Elizabeth will like that.'

Just then I feel the child move under my hand and for a second I clearly see the shape of a foot contorting the skin of her stomach under the chemise. I am awestruck and delighted.

'Do they kick a lot?' I ask eagerly.

'Yes,' she says wearily, 'all day and all night. They are very strong.' I hear a note of pride in her voice then despite her obvious exhaustion.

'When they are born I will have to scold them for giving their mother so much trouble!'

'No,' she corrects me, moving my hands so I can feel another kick. 'You will be indulgent. _I _will have to be strict.'

I smile and kiss the crown of her head.

'What shall we name him? Henry for your father?'

'Yes,' and for a second a shadow crosses her face. My father in law is at war in France and I know Mary worries about his welfare constantly. 'And we can call the next boy Philip after his father.'

'You will go through this again?'

'I might be persuaded. If you ask me nicely.'

'If she is a girl we must name her Mary after her beautiful mother. I insist.'

She falls silent then for a long time and I wonder if she has fallen asleep.

'Sweetheart?'

'Katherine. I would like our daughter to be called Katherine. After the Queen of course,' she adds quickly.

'Of course,' I echo. 'If that is what you want, my love.' Naturally I know exactly why Mary wants our daughter to be called Katherine but surely the King cannot object if we say we want to name her after the current Queen. It is a convenient excuse.

When I look down at her again she is trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. I am not fooled.

'You are falling asleep.'

'Mmm.'

'You must lie down on the bed. You need to rest.'

I think she is going to protest but she goes to the bed willingly enough and lies down obediently. I sit down beside her to say goodbye and she takes my hand and rubs her thumb against mine idly.

'You will be gone when I wake up?'

'Yes. Otherwise people will be looking for me. Imagine how scandalised the court would be if they found out we had disobeyed the rules of your confinement!'

'You will come back?'

'When the baby is born, I will come and see you both. I do not care about the rules.'

She nods in approval.

'Good. And you will send me my lute?'

'Yes, I promise.'

'Then perhaps I will survive the next two weeks after all.'

I smile lovingly at her.

'I am glad that you think so because I do not know what I would do without you. Now go to sleep and I will see you soon.' I kiss her on the forehead and on the lips lightly and then finally on the point where our hands are joined. When her eyes drift shut I creep quietly from the room wondering how much I will have to bribe the attendants to keep the windows open and the fire unlit. I will be bankrupted, I think ruefully, as I close the door, but it will be worth it.

* * *

As it turns out it is only five days later when I am summoned to the confinement chamber again. It is dawn when I am shown in to wide smiles and congratulations.

She is sitting up in the bed, cradling our newborn son, talking to him and cooing. Our son. I think my heart might burst with pride as I look at them.

When she sees me she smiles radiantly and beckons me closer. Then she whispers to the baby.

'Henry,' she says, 'this is your father.' His tiny fingers curl around my thumb and I am overcome with his perfection, at how perfect my life has suddenly become.

'So, sweetheart,' I say when I finally find my voice. 'Are you still missing riding and dancing?'

'Oh no,' she says contentedly. 'I am happy here. The happiest.'

* * *

**Süße **is a German term of endearment, meaning roughly 'sweetheart' or 'sweetie', it is probably far too modern to be used in this story but I liked it, it seemed like something Philip would say.

Thanks for reading, look out for the next instalment of VTF, coming soon!


End file.
